


Love & Biscuits

by littlehighlittlelow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baking, Caring John, Emotional Growth, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27762592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehighlittlelow/pseuds/littlehighlittlelow
Summary: Just a short look into how the lives at Baker Street could one day develop.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Love & Biscuits

“And what, pray tell, am I to do with this?” Mycroft asked, as he lifted an eyebrow and carefully inspected the small, plastic, and, most importantly, _empty_ plate in his hands. 

“Eat it!” the surprisingly haughty little girl instructed. “OV-ously.” 

“Yes, quite.” Mycroft continued to examine the alarming shade of pink toy with a disinterested air. “Only, dear Rosamund—”

“Rosie!”

“—you have neglected to actually _give_ me anything to eat,” Mycroft continued as though he hadn’t heard her practised correction to him. 

John glanced over from the paper he was reading. “Mycroft, she’s four,” he said to the older Holmes brother with a long-suffering sigh. 

“You have to _pretend!_ ” Rosie told Mycroft with a stern tone. 

“Just what exactly am I to pretend to be eating?” 

“Biscuits!” the little girl said proudly, as she also prepared a cup and saucer and then presented it on a princess tray, waiting until Mycroft dutifully picked up the mismatched plastic pieces. He watched with an assessing eye as Rosie poured him a cup of pretend tea. 

“I see. Well, this is just foolishness. I see no reason to encourage, for one, such poor tea etiquette; really, Rosamund, you should never pour tea whilst someone is _holding_ their teacup—”

“Mycroft,” John said sharply, on the verge of completely losing his patience. 

“And _two_ ,” Mycroft carried on just the same, ignoring John completely, “there is no need to _pretend_ to serve me biscuits, when we could use our time much more productively to _make_ biscuits.” 

John, increasingly growing quite cross with the deliberate tone deafness of a middle-aged man talking down to his only daughter, suddenly had to mentally run to catch up. “Wait— what?” 

Mycroft placed the toy dishes on the table next to his chair, as carefully as he would have had they been real porcelain. He stood up, and after adjusting his clothing to proper order, held out his hand to the excitedly clapping little girl. “Come along, Rosamund. I shall teach you how to prepare the best biscuits in all of England. Have you baked before?” 

“ _No_. Daddy says I can’t play in the kitchen, it’s too dangerous.” 

“Nonsense! We are not _playing_ ,” he said in a tone that instilled a sense of most unpleasantness. “This is _science_. A precise and real-world application to the art of chemistry. I would have expected your daddies to be much more prudent with preparing you for such academic endeavours...” 

John could only smile as he watched his daughter excitedly half-drag the unhurried Mycroft into the kitchen; the promise of fresh biscuits and a new activity far outweighing her probable confusion at his long-winded critique of her nursery schooling. 

John suddenly felt a sentimental pang in his chest as he realized that Mycroft’s choice of phrasing had included Sherlock as another parental figure to Rosie, and if his eyes started to tear up a little, John didn’t try as hard as he might have a few years ago to fight them back. 

The loud crash and “ _Uh oh_ ” he was only too familiar with from the kitchen made him shake his head and smile to himself. He had a feeling Mycroft Holmes baking with a four year old was going to be one of the most interesting things he ever witnessed. 

John raised the paper in his hands back to eye level and decided to take the chance at uninterrupted reading while it lasted. 

Not much later, familiar arms were circling around his shoulders, a soft kiss pressed to his temple. He leaned into the embrace, not minding this sort of distraction, as Sherlock softly said against his ear, “You know the kitchen will be a disaster when they’re through, don’t you?” 

John laughed lightly, not really wanting to envision the mess just yet. “Oh, I had a feeling. She’s so excited, though. Have you been listening to them together? I never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Hmm, yes, my brother can be surprising at times. He’s actually a talented baker. Part of the reason I always give him hell over his weight.” 

“I really hope one of us can get a picture of him in an apron and covered in flour, I think it could be the Christmas cards this year.” 

Sherlock chuckled and squeezed a little tighter before straightening up, his hand carding through John’s hair lightly before he walked around him and settled into his own chair. “Let’s give them a few more minutes and I’ll try to sneak in with a camera. He’ll never clean up the mess, so it’s only fair.” Sherlock smiled conspiratorially as he picked up the mug of tea John had set there for him an hour ago. “This is terrible,” he grimaced and then pouted as he set it back down. 

John’s fond smile broadened as he said, “Well what do you expect, when you leave it for so long. I told you when it was ready.” 

“I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I was fixing my sock index.” Sherlock leaned forwards and plucked the forgotten paper from John’s lap. “ _Again_.” 

John laughed and let it be stolen without a fuss. “I told you we need to put new child locks around. She’s too inquisitive.”

“She’ll only figure out how to undo them all. None of the others have been the most troublesome to break.” 

“And who’s fault is _that_?” 

“John, I think you should be happy that I encourage your daughter to be as clever and resourceful as possible. These are important attributes to foster.” 

Sherlock seemed to be engrossed in the paper as he said this, but John carefully watched his face. The ache in his chest was back, but this time it was a bit sadder than before. 

He sat up straighter and leaned forward, reaching out to gently hold Sherlock’s wrist to draw his attention. Sherlock finally met his eyes, and realising this was to be a serious topic, he closed the paper with his free hand and put it aside. John slid his hand down from Sherlock’s wrist to thread their fingers together. 

“You heard what Mycroft said earlier, didn’t you, to Rosie?” He waited until Sherlock nodded, knowing he would understand which part he meant. “I know we’ve never officially talked about it, but we should have. And I’m sorry I’ve never said it before. You are her father, as much as I am. I’ve felt that way ever since we moved home, here, with you, and I always will. I love you, and that little girl loves you so much, and I know how much you love her.” Their fingers tightened around each other, and John thought his heart might burst with what he felt for the man in front of him. 

Sherlock was having trouble finding the words he wanted to say. His eyes had misted over, and he swallowed thickly before he could say, “I do love you both. More than anything in this world. I only hope I am always able to prove it to you.” 

“Idiot, you don’t have to prove anything,” John said fondly. “I see it on your face every day.” 

“Have I really become so easy to read?” 

“Just about this. Everything else you’re as maddening as ever,” John told him with a smile. 

“Well, that’s encouraging, at least,” Sherlock smiled back, as he leaned forward and cupped the back of John’s neck, pulling him into a promising kiss. 

John went easily, his free hand reaching out for Sherlock, finding his knee and smoothly drifting up his thigh. He was just starting to wonder if they could get away with sneaking to their bedroom for a little while— 

There was another crash, an “ _Oh NO”_ , and a dismayed “ _Not my John Lobb!_ ” from the kitchen. 

John groaned and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s for a moment, before they both were laughing and soon wiping tears from their eyes. “Let’s go see if we can salvage your brother’s shoes, shall we? Don’t forget to get your phone ready with the camera.” 

  
  


*

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know anything about tea etiquette. Or that much about 4 year olds. And all I know about bespoke shoes is what google told me. John Lobb seemed very Mycroft. Basically I know nothing about anything. Con/crit welcome, kudos and comments are very much appreciated


End file.
